


The Clothes Make The Man

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-07
Updated: 2013-04-07
Packaged: 2017-12-07 19:05:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/751966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras picks the short straw and has to wear Jehan's clothing for a full week if he wants to walk away with his pride--and any hope of Grantaire making the signs for an upcoming rally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Clothes Make The Man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pantsoflobster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pantsoflobster/gifts).



“Okay, so to review: everyone’s name goes in this cap. I’ll draw my pair first, then I’ll continue drawing names until everyone’s been paired. Each pair must switch clothes for a full week, and if anyone wears their own clothes before we’re down to the final pair, you’re both out of the bet. Who else is in?” Courfeyrac glanced around the emptying cafe, searching for a raised hand or nodding head.

Jehan looked up from his book--a collection of poetry by Pablo Neruda. “I’m in,” he called. “I think it’ll be interesting.”

The students lounging around Cafe Musain groaned as Courfeyrac tore another strip of paper from his notebook, adding Jehan’s name to the cap on the table in front of him. Jehan was notorious for his awful taste in clothes--cornflower blue jeans, floral scarves, and generally eccentric choices in fashion--and nobody wanted to trade wardrobes with him for a week.

“What about you, Enj?” (“Mon Ange! My angel,” Grantaire added dryly at the nickname.)

Enjolras sighed, looking up from the essay he was revising. “I don’t understand the point of this.”  
“You don’t understand the point of anything but the big picture, Apollo,” Grantaire noted as Courf cleared his throat.

“The point of this,” the center began, “is threefold. First, it tests dedication--something I thought you would surely understand. Second, it shows whether the man makes the clothes or the clothes make the man. And third, it gives each player an option to win--” here, Courfeyrac did a quick head count-- “$150, if you’re in, which at this point you have to be, because you can’t pair off with nine people.”  
“Someone can trade three ways; I’m not doing this,” came the reply.

Grantaire looked up from the beer he’d been nursing. “What’s the matter, Great One? Don’t think you can stomach wearing someone else’s clothes for a week? Not confident enough to let the shields down? The only thing at stake is $15. A bit of pride, as well, but you’re a God Walking The Earth.” Enjolras could hear the capitalization in Grantaire’s voice. “Which means you’ve got plenty of pride to spare. Plus, if you win, I’ll make all your fucking signs for your goddamn rally, we have nine people and if you’re not a piece of shit you’ll just do it. What is the worst that could happen, Apollo? Get paired with someone who hates red? I won’t even fuck up the signs.”

Enjolras sighed. He did get some seriously awful writer’s cramp from the last rally he held. “Fine. I’m in.”

Smiling, Courfeyrac added the final slip of paper to the cap in front of him.

****

\--

****

“Cash in, everyone,” Courfeyrac called out, counting the money he’d been given. “We’re short fifteen--ah, thank you, Combeferre--then everything’s sorted money-wise, so I suppose it’s time to draw?”

Courfeyrac reached into the cap, swirling around the small slips of paper before--”Marius Pontmercy! at least you’ll look good for once in your life. You and your girlfriend can thank me later.” Courfeyrac took a moment to wink at Cosette.  
“Poor Courf,” R muttered to Enjolras, who laughed until his name was drawn. He waited with baited breath to find out whose wardrobe he was going to have to wear if he wanted to avoid carpal tunnel from making rally signs.

“Jehan, you’re with Enjolras.” Courf allowed a moment of laughter before picking the rest of the names--Combeferre with Bahorel, Feuilly with Grantaire, and Joly with Bossuet--the first bit of good luck Lesgle’d had in years, he joked, as nobody quite knew which clothes were Joly’s and which were Bossuet’s anymore.

Enjolras couldn’t focus on the rest of the pairs, though, because he was going to have to trade wardrobes. With _Jehan._ For ** _seven days._**

****


End file.
